When lightening crack whips up a squall,
welcome quicksand waves enthral,
a walk across the windy lake,
exhausts the tempest, glass to make.
Would weakness from such energy spent
break your will and cause relent?
Your icy back having turned my way;
endless night of darkest day!
Why punish me for Petrine treason?
I am not rock. I too had reason.
Why string me up with Judas noosed?
Bound is bound? Loosed is loosed?
Welled up am I in dankest hole.
My voice, it echoes round my soul.
“Oublié” is now my name.
Your face has faded from the frame.
I, starving, naked, fettered, deign
unsated thirst within me reign.
Where are You come this hour be?
Unto others! Unto me?!
Andrew MacGowan – Theology II